Because Creativity - This quiet thrill of exploration, with Jo Scott
"What if creativity isn't what I assumed it was?"
Dear Creatives,
Welcome to another Because Creativity guest letter, where we pause from life’s endless demands for a short interlude, to dwell on creativity, imagination, and beauty. For joy alone.
Today’s letter is from
, an award-winning artist and illustrator best known for her wonderfully characterful dog paintings. Jo designs greeting cards for Moonpig and Thortful, licenses her work to The Art File and other publishers, paints to commission, and creates original artworks both in her Forest of Dean studio and on the road while travelling in her motorhome.Jo and I have been orbiting each other’s creative worlds on Substack for a little while now, and I love her artwork, so full of personality, charm, and fun. Jo spends much of the year travelling with her dog, Thomasina, and her other half, working as a full-time artist. It’s something I secretly dream of finding my way back to one day: balancing the kind of creating that feeds the soul with the kind that pays the bills.
I’m endlessly fascinated by how other artists live and work, and earlier this year, I had the joy of meeting Jo in person when she was travelling back from Spain and staying for a couple of nights near Winchester, not far from where I live. I got to step into her cosy home on wheels, meet the wonderful Thomasina and Mr Dean, and then we made our way to my little studio. We drank tea, ate biscuits, talked about art and Substack and dogs. My three crazy spaniels, Suzie, Spirit, and Steve, graciously allowed Jo space on the sofa while we chatted, and only stole one of the biscuits…
Jo’s letter is a deeply honest reflection about what it really means to feel joy in the creative process, not in the final flourish, but in the slow, quiet gathering of inspiration. It’s a beautiful reminder that creativity often lives in the noticing.
What creative practice brings you joy?
Well, Emily, this question has honestly kept me up at night. It looks so simple on the surface, but there I was, overthinking it into a maze of thoughts. That’s why it’s taken me several weeks (months, if I’m being honest?) to write this for you. Thank you (again!) for your endless patience.
At first, I thought I’d write about the part of my process where I’m deep into a painting, and I finally manage to capture the expression or personality I’ve been trying to communicate.
In that moment, something clicks, I get a shiver down my spine, a burst of energy, and yes, my feet do a little jig under the table. But that happens at the very end of the process. It’s a hard-won feeling, arriving only after pushing through muddy sketches, reworking sections, sometimes starting over entirely. And honestly, it doesn’t feel joyful most of the time—it feels like effort, like wrestling paint into meaning.
So I could say that the final breakthrough brings me joy, but I don’t think that’s the whole truth or a very helpful one.
As a chronic overthinker, I started chasing this question in circles. It kept showing up in different disguises:
What is creativity?
Am I doing it right?
Is this even creative?
How do I know when something’s working?
There’s no neat, pre-drawn map for creativity. Each person’s practice looks different. And the more I thought about it, the more I landed on a better question:
What if creativity isn’t what I assumed it was?
Most days, it doesn’t feel mystical or magical. It feels like rummaging through coat pockets for your keys, sure you left them somewhere important. That small panic, that scattered search, that’s the feeling. Sometimes I’m full of ideas. Other times, I switch to a new metaphorical bag and pretend the shuffle is part of my "process."
But here’s the interesting thing: when I took a closer look, I realised I do have small rituals that feel different. These parts don’t feel forced or draining—they feel like breathing. And the part that brings me actual, sustained joy? It comes long before paint touches canvas.
Here’s what I mean:
That article I saved three months ago.
The window display at my local bakery with colours that practically hum in my head.
The view that makes my fingers twitch like they’re already sketching it.
My Pinterest boards feel like small museums curated by my gut. My sketchbook is scattered with scrappy notes and scribbles that pulse with ideas I haven’t fully formed yet—but just thinking about them gives me this quiet thrill.
From these moments of noticing, ideas begin to emerge. I play with colour combinations in my sketchbook. I doodle. I collage. I collect. Both on paper and digitally, in my phone, on Pinterest, on random sticky notes. It’s exploration without an agenda. And that’s what brings me joy.
I used to think if I wasn’t making a finished piece, I was wasting time. But I’ve started to see those in-between days, doing the dishes, catching up with family, wandering the supermarket, as quietly productive. Not in a to-do list way, but in the way ideas settle in the background when you’re not looking directly at them.
That off-stage time matters. It’s not glamorous. It doesn’t “spark joy” like a reality show makeover. But it’s the fertile ground where things take shape.
So yes, the one creative practice that brings me joy is not the grand finale—it’s the gathering.
The collecting. The noticing. The quiet moments where something catches my attention and I let it linger, without needing to turn it into anything.
That’s where I feel most alive creatively. And now that I’ve named it, I think I’ll be more intentional about making room for it.
So thank you for asking this question. I didn’t expect it to lead me here, but I’m glad it did.
As Jo so thoughtfully shares, creativity isn’t only found in the final piece or the polished reveal, it lives in the gathering, in the noticing, in the moments when something catches our attention and gently asks to be kept. It’s not about constant output or grand breakthroughs, but about giving ourselves permission to linger in the in-between places, to follow curiosity without needing a destination.
Thank you, Jo, for reminding us that these small rituals; the scrappy notes, the colours that hum in our minds, the collage of ideas we carry with us, they are not a detour from creativity. They are creativity.
If you’d like to spend more time with Jo (and I highly recommend it), she writes The Travelling Artist on Substack, a beautifully illustrated mix of painted postcards, stories from life on the road, and thoughtful, generous insights into running a creative business. It’s part sketchbook, part journal, part guidebook for fellow makers and artists who are curious about how others build a life around creativity. Alongside her weekly posts, Jo also runs two monthly Zoom sessions for paid subscribers, offering an open studio space to chat, ask questions, and share ideas.
I was lucky enough to be interviewed by Jo recently for her artist interview series, which you can read here:
If you're in London between now and early July, keep an eye out for two of Jo’s paintings on display in the windows of Selfridges, Oxford Street. And if you're local to the Midlands, you might enjoy a visit to Edition Dog Live at NAEC Stoneleigh on 6th July, or the Far Open Art Trail, running from 7th–15th July, where Jo’s studio will be open to visitors.
Letters like Jo’s remind me how lucky we are to share this space, to witness how creativity moves and reshapes itself in other people’s lives, and to feel the threads that connect us, even when our practices look entirely different. There’s something deeply comforting in that companionship, and in the shared joy that so often arrives without fanfare, in moments of play, curiosity, and quiet noticing.
Creative joy doesn’t have to be earned through outcomes or polished results. It can live in colour palettes saved for later, in scrappy notes, in the simple act of paying attention. However creativity finds you this week, I hope it brings a spark of delight and the freedom to follow what feels good, just for the joy of it.
With wishes for endless inspiration,
 | A guest post by
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I absolutely LOVE seeing inside sketchbooks. Thank you for sharing, Jo!
Goodness! What an absolute delight to read both of you here together Emily and Jo, Thank you fr sharing these so important thoughts.
To read that I am not as bonkers as I believe in finding most of the joy in the gathering of ideas rather than creating them into something else, something I always wonder, which may or may not be loved as much by others...
Jo where you said "The collecting. The noticing. The quiet moments where something catches my attention and I let it linger, without needing to turn it into anything." I almost cried with relief!
And then a little further on, Emily you say this "It can live in colour palettes saved for later, in scrappy notes, in the simple act of paying attention." The scrappy notes, the colour palettes, which for me are my photos, and the paying attention... this, all these, are where I find the most joy and from those the creativity arrives, it may be months later, it may be immediate (rarely) but the reforming of those moments into poem, prose and photo, when it finally feels like I imagined... then I sigh!
You've both made my day, I am now going off to gather, to pay attention in the fog! 💛xx